This fiction piece contains some foul languages. If you’re easily offended, it might not be for you. Otherwise, then happy reading and don’t forget to tell me what you think about it.
He walks gingerly towards the thrift shop. His dark eyes have a definite glint in them, they type that screams fuck them. That’s his exact thought as he hauls the can up the front steps. Glancing backwards and down the street, he nods then inserts the tiny pin inside the lock. The smirk turns to a sneer as it clicks. This part of the street is dark. He has worked on it, has made sure the lights are off. Pretty easier than he expected. All he had to do was bribe the guard. That was fast. He got to work on the transformer after that, just like he’s working on the entrance door now.
Fucking arseholes
They think they can mess with him and get away with it. They haven’t seen anything yet. They just wait.
The door gives way and he drags the can inside. He looks around and shakes his head. Lots of old crap. Well, he’ll fix it, just like he always does. It won’t be a problem anymore after he’s done. The counter is plastic, old vinyl, perfect point of origin. The old clothes are beautiful too. All he needs now are a bunch of papers to get everything going, plus liquor bottles, cigarettes too. Better make it look like kids work. Drunk teenagers who thought they could steal some on a Friday night but got more than they bargained for. No need for perfection here. Dirty will do just fine.
He whistles as he pour gasoline on the ground and over the wooden boxes. They bottles aren’t a problem. They’re just there in this car, down the road. The papers too. He smirks some more and gets to work.
The flames are coming up now. God, how he loves the perfection of it. The art turns him on. He’s yet to see anything more beautiful. Those colours – blue and yellow, read and orange, dancing, beckoning. He won’t get tired of it.
He stands and watches as it roars upwards, eating the woods and sneaking up the walls toward the ceiling.
Yes, that’s it bitches. Pay time
The smile is replaced by a lopsided grin as he walks away. Behind him, years of hard work turns into aches while a siren cries in a distance.
